All These Things That I've Done
by evanesconunquam
Summary: Some secrets are meant to stay that way... Draco Malfoy has learnt the hard way when Hermione, Ron and Harry find out his secrets... secrets he's tried so hard to conceal rated for self injury, abuse, language and general angstiness possible slash later
1. Chapter One

Draco sat in the library and poked at his books morosely. He felt a headache coming on. In two short days he would be back at Malfoy Mansion for the Christmas holidays. He shuddered; the prospect was less then inviting. No wonder his head hurt so much.

For the past six years, his father had always taunted and questioned him about his permanent single status. It wasn't that he wasn't liked by girls. He'd recently laughed at a second year Ravenclaw who'd been so distracted that she'd walked into a wall. He just couldn't seem to reciprocate their affections. God, it was embarrassing.

His father continually went on about how even Goyle (god forbid) had managed to scrape himself a girlfriend. It didn't matter that Goyle was the most dim-witted slug to ever grace the planet or that his girlfriend had a face like a pug. It was the principle of the matter. Anyway, trust Goyle to take what Draco had rejected. Draco had never really liked Parkinson so he wasn't all that fussed. His father, however, would rant about it for hours. These rants never ended pleasantly. Violence was a family trait and unfortunately for his son, Lucius Malfoy was an expert.

However, that was before his father had been caught by Aurors at the Ministry last June. He hadn't seen his father for at least five months. Not that he was complaining. Since then however, his mother had been distraught. Over the summer Draco had been called to Voldemort. He'd been dragged to the side of his 'Lord,' and forced to bow and do his bidding. The pride that Lucius had instilled in Draco from birth had bred resentment. He had no loyalty to Voldemort. He had no loyalty to his father. His mother was relatively distraught at him. She was terrified that he would die at the hands of either Lucius or Voldemort himself. Both Narcissa and Draco knew that Lucius could escape at any time. He would probably aim for when Draco was home. When he would confront Draco about Voldemort's mission and why it wasn't yet complete.

Draco sniffed, hating the idea of returning home. He pushed aside the school books; he'd only come down here to get a bit of peace. The Slytherin common room was buzzing; the current news of Voldemort was the main conversation. He'd basically had to fight his way through the huge amounts of sixth, fifth and seventh years who had all been told about his secret 'mission' from Voldemort. He twitched involuntarily as he groped around the table. He grasped an empty space and muttered at it. As he did so, a book appeared. The book was leatherbound and obviously expensive. It had, of course, a large silver engraving of a snake embossed on the front. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes again. His father truly was a complete moron.

He glanced around surreptitiously before opening the book and taking out a pen. He hated the idea of anyone knowing he kept a journal. It was quite embarrassing really. He'd only kept the stupid book because his father gave it to him and would know if he chucked it out. He strongly suspected that he'd only done it so Draco could record what evil stuff he'd done that day.

There was a thud from the doorway. Draco slammed the book shut and muttered again. The book disappeared and Draco turned around and glared at the doorway. What kind of idiot came into the library at this time of night?

There was a whispered, 'Lumos,' and a face with glasses appeared. Still unsettled, Draco snarled, 'Problem, Potter?'

'Huh? Who's that?' Harry's voice rang clearly through the darkness.

'Oh shut up.' Draco was fed up. Quickly grabbing his books off the table he stalked out of the library, pushing past Harry on his way out the door.

* * *

Harry was confused as he watched Draco leave. They usually preferred hexing each other to actual conversation. But as he watched the form retreat into the darkness of the hallways, no snide retorts were made. He shrugged. So what if the albino wasn't talking? He didn't care. Not really.

He sat down in the recently vacated table and waited. Hermione and Ron were supposed to be meeting him there at eleven. He'd wanted them to catch up at a normal time but with their busy schedules during sixth year this was near impossible. Hermione was stressed out about the upcoming exams and they were still at least five months away. He checked his watch, it was five to eleven. Still too early, he thought to himself. Draco might have stayed, however obnoxious he was, it was very quiet alone in the library.

He stretched out his arms and placed them on the table, exhausted. Quidditch training had been hard again and he'd rather be asleep. However, catching up with his friends was important. He ran his fingers along the grain of the table until they hit a solid object. He stared uncomprehendingly at nothing and picked up the shape. "What is that?" he mumbled to himself. Unbeknownst to him, Hermione and Ron entered. Ron coughed unsubtly, unsure of how to alert him to their presence. Harry looked around vaguely before waving them in.

"Uh, Hermione…" Harry mumbled, still distracted by the strangely solid patch of nothing.

"Yes? What is it?" she answered, looking at him strangely.

"Could you have a look at this for me?"

He picked up the shape and held it out towards her. She looked at him uncomprehendingly for a second before poking the seemingly empty space in front of him with a finger.

"That's very strange," she mumbled to herself, seemingly oblivious to Ron and Harry's presence. She then took out her wand and mumbled at the solid space of air in Harry's hands. Even she looked surprised when a book appeared.

"How did you do that?" said Harry and Ron in awed unison.

"You'd know how to do that too if you read your charms books more carefully!"

Making an immediate resolve to look over his charms books tomorrow and find out how to make mysterious invisible objects visible, Harry leaned closer as they stared at the heavily embossed cover.

"Slytherin's I bet," muttered Ron, taking in the ornate silver and elaborate plating. "'S entirely over the top…"

"It's Draco Malfoy's." announced Hermione.

"How do you know that?" said Harry, wondering whether that was in the charms book also.

"It's written on the front cover." She replied, rolling her eyes.

* * *

Back in the dorms, Draco was panicked. He'd searched through all his school books and still couldn't find it. Cursing under his breath he pushed all the neatly organized piles on his dressing table over. He'd only taken it down there so he could write in it in private; and now, this had happened. He pushed his blond hair out of his eyes, it was unusual for him to be this stressed, especially about something so stupid. He had to stay calm. Shaking slightly, he stacked the books back onto his dressing table and walked silently out of the room.

* * *

Down in the library, Hermione and Ron were in a fierce argument over the diary. Hermione glared at Ron as she hugged it to her chest.

"No matter how evil he is, he does have the right to keep a diary." She screamed.

"Yeah," Ron retorted, "Well he shouldn't have left it where we could read it then, should he? Why don't we just read a little?"

Behind them, they heard a muffled cough. They hadn't realized how loudly they had been arguing. Shocked, they both turned to look at Harry, who shrugged and then turned to the door where Draco Malfoy was standing.

"Excuse me." He drawled, "But that's mine!"

"As if we're going to give it back to you." Ron said defiantly as he glared at Hermione. "So says you, but not the mudblood!" Draco snapped angrily.

Hermione looked crushed for a moment, but then covered it. With a mumbled, "Excuse me," she rushed past Draco, still holding the diary. The remaining people in the room stared after her.

"But that's mine…" Draco said plaintively, "She can't do that!"

"She just did," said Harry, still staring after Hermione, "And it serves you right."

"But I need that," Draco complained, "Its mine…"

"Well then you better hope to hell that she gives it back." And with that Harry and Ron exited the library and left Draco standing stupidly next to the empty tables.

* * *

Hermione walked quietly up to her room, immersed in thought. The taunt still hurt; it wasn't her fault about her ancestry. She tried so hard to prove herself. And still it came back to her so-called impurity. She hugged the diary. The stupid blond wouldn't be getting this back without a fight.

She was shocked when she reached the dormitory door, she hadn't even noticed where she'd been walking. She stepped quietly up the spiral staircase and turned into the curved bedrooms. Sitting down on her bed she laid the diary out beside her and got into her pajamas. Then, leaning back against the pillows, she began to read. They were

* * *

_23/12th _

_My father has broken all previous records of generosity. Not to be confused with his normal theory of generosity which is, 'I must display the Malfoy Wealth through copious amounts of large and noticeable objects,' but generosity through giving me a diary. Not to be confused with a regular diary in which you write about your thoughts and feelings; this diary is for the sole purpose of recording all the evil things I've done each day. Speaking of which, today I tortured kittens and puppies and made a seven year old cry… Yes, I really am going to grow up just like father. I'm so screwed up I don't think I can live up to my father's sadistic expectations. It's not like I'm intentionally doing this. I hate him sometimes. _

_30th/12th_

_My mother's never going to stand up to him. I hate her. I hate him. But most of all I hate myself. I can't do anything right. Father was lecturing me again on something, I don't remember what, and I just ran upstairs. He shouted at me, "Malfoys don't run. They stand and fight," And followed me to my room. God I hate it when he follows me. Then he stood at the door and shouted, 'Crucio!' I can't remember most of it. But I remember white-hot pain volts running through me. There are bruises all over me and I can't remember what happened after that. God, I hope no one can see me. This is humiliating._

Hermione skipped ahead until she reached the diary entries written in June of last year.

_29th/6th _

_He's gone. They took him away to Azkaban today. But worst of all as I saw him being led off by the Dementors, I didn't feel bad. I didn't feel anything except a hot sick swoop of relief. What kind of person am I?_

* * *

Hermione felt sick as she put the book carefully down on the bed beside her. She knew she shouldn't of read it but now that she had, what was she supposed to do? She started feeling pangs of sympathy for Draco. Was it possible that his father's influence had made Lucius and not Draco responsible for all the horrible comments? This thought made her immediately resolve to return the diary to him. But she needed to do something first.

Later as she stowed a copy of the book alongside the original, she was still wondering whether she'd done the right thing. Both copies were magically forced to replicate each other. This meant that anything that Draco wrote in his diary from now on, would be immediately replicated in Hermione's copy. Hermione felt briefly guilty as she thought of this violation of privacy, but quickly suppressed it as she turned over and tried to go to sleep.

* * *

Draco, meanwhile, was still standing shell shocked in the library. Begging Granger to return the book would be useless; she, like himself, would probably remember all the horrible insults and confrontations over the years. He had insulted her only an hour ago as she had tried to return the book to him last time. As he started walking towards the dungeons he inwardly shuddered as he thought what would happen if she happened to read the book. The thought of someone reading those entries made Draco feel sick. Why did he have to write in that stupid book anyway? It was all his fault. He stood up and began to pace, absorbed in his own thought. He felt nauseous and sat down again. Why didn't he just pick up the book with his other possessions? What could have possibly possessed him to leave it there? His father was going to kill him for sure. "You let a mudblood read your diary, Draco? My, my, you have sunk to new lows haven't you?" There would be a short pause before, "This is for your own good Draco…" and a whispered, "Crucio."

He paused, feeling his whole body descending into despair. Not again. He couldn't handle it again. The feelings like he was about to drown in emotions of guilt and hopelessness; the horrible sensation of wanting something or someone to hurt him. God, he'd even let his father hurt him to get rid of this. He stood up abruptly and wandered downstairs to the dungeons. He'd get the blade and be done with it. It'd be fine. He'd feel better. He paused again, with the nauseous feeling in his stomach, and shuddered involuntarily. He'd reached the Slytherin common room; he'd just pass through, pick up the knife and head to the bathrooms. He mumbled the password and stepped in, not looking to either side of him as he walked.

Scrabbling through his drawers he managed to locate the silver knife with a serpent on its hilt. He pushed it into his pocket underneath his robes. By this stage, Draco, was almost oblivious to all other things. He heard a muffled voice calling his name from the nearby bed but ignored it. He walked quickly, almost running to the closest bathrooms and opened the door. His hands were shaking as he sat down and got out the knife. This is pathetic, he thought to himself as he held it next to his wrist, just pathetic.

* * *

The next morning, Hermione took the diary out from under her bed. She hadn't managed to read past the first two entries, consumed in guilt. She resolved to give it back to Draco the moment she saw him that morning. It was unofficially the first day of holidays but all the students would commence going home the next day. All of the students were wearing a mixture of casual and muggle clothes. She was no exception. On her way down to the great hall, she searched the busy hallways for the blond head, but couldn't see him any where. Exasperated, she waved Harry and Ron on as they motioned for her to come to breakfast and continued looking.

As she wandered towards the Slytherin dungeons, she noticed the stone seemed to get colder and greyer. It was quite depressing down there. Lost in thought she didn't see a figure coming towards her. It pushed past her, clothed in a large green jumper. She turned around abruptly, "Malfoy?" The figure turned around. It was Draco, pale and sick looking. "Yes Granger?" He answered, but with none of his usual malice.

"I brought back your book." She stammered unsure of how to act. He took a step towards her and grabbed the book almost urgently. He muttered thanks and turned to leave.

"Draco?" Hermione said to his back. He turned back around, and looked at her but couldn't seem to keep her gaze. "What is it?" he mumbled, staring at the floor. Hermione stared at his stooped form. He was so unhappy looking. Why didn't she see it before? "Are you alright, Draco?" she asked. He turned back, his hands visibly shaking through to the fingers that protruded out of the jumper's sleeves. "Fine, I'm just fine." He muttered and wandered down the dark stone steps and out of sight.

* * *

When Hermione returned to the breakfast table, Harry and Ron noticed her unusual silence. It wasn't that she was always talkative, in fact, more often than not she had her nose buried in a school book. But usually, there was something more than this.

"Um," said Ron questioningly, "Are you alright Hermione?"

"What? Oh, no I'm fine Ron. Just fine." She answered somewhat vacantly.

"Have you still got Malfoy's book? I just can't wait to read it. He's probably recorded all the sadistic things he's done in it," said Ron dreamily, "Then we can get him sent away to Azkaban for life." Harry joined in the laughing but stopped as he realized Hermione wasn't laughing with them. She was still sitting and staring at her breakfast.

"Hermione, where's the book now?" Ron asked, unsure of how to respond to her silences. "I, I gave it back to him." She muttered, not meeting Ron's eyes.

"You did what?" Harry said incredulously, "What did you do that for?"

"I felt bad for him." She whispered, "He has as much right as we do to have emotions."

Harry stared at Ron who stared back, just as blankly. "Hermione, might I remind you that he is Harry's mortal enemy who probably attacks butterflies with curses by night who's father is in fact, a death eater." Said Ron skeptically, "So why on earth would you care about his feelings?"

Harry looked at Hermione who looked at him beseechingly. "Did he hurt you Hermione?" he asked. She stayed obstinately silent. He glanced at Ron again. They both got up and started to walk back to the Gryffindor common room. Hermione stared at her plate for a couple more seconds and then got up and left the great hall in the direction of the library.

* * *

Draco stared blankly at the canopy of his four poster bed. He'd passed out in the early hours of the morning in the bathroom of the downstairs dungeons. It was uncomfortable waking up on the stone floors. He'd had to do an emergency cleaning spell on all the blood. He'd gotten kind of freaked out at first and forgotten where he was but then he'd remembered the horrible incidents of last night. It was all he could do not to stay there.

But he knew he had to get up and when he was on his way back to the common room he'd met Hermione Granger in the hallways. She'd looked at him a little oddly but had given him his diary back and didn't comment on it. Then he'd run off back to the common room. It was such a relief to have the book back. Draco didn't realize how much he actually needed it. He'd put so much personal stuff into it. He'd been so worried when that girl had wandered off with it. The idea that she had read his personal stuff really bothered him. Well, at least she didn't say very much about it.

His wrists were badly cut from the night before. He had no idea what to do about it. He could go and see Madame Pomfrey, but the idea of that was mortifying. Draco really hoped no one would find out before he went home. The prospect of going home and hiding it there was much more of a challenge. The house elves were always too willing to perform first aid and his mother would ask too many questions.

He reclined slightly resting his head back on the green pillows of his bed. It was much better to have the book back where it belonged. The prospect of going home, however, still loomed. The house would be empty and silent and forced conversations with his mother were always horrendous. Or worse. His father would be there; already broken out of Azkaban with ease and ready to take punitive action. He turned over onto his side and his wrists stung badly as he put pressure on them. He bit his lip to stop himself yelping; he really needed to figure out how to do rudimentary healing magic...

* * *

Harry caught up with Draco later that morning. He'd found him alone, which was an unusual occurrence and wandering the grounds. It was cold that day but he was looking especially unusual in a heavy green jumper that swamped his frame. Draco usually prided himself on being resistant to cold and therefore managed to wear much more shapely clothing then the rest of the student population.

Harry tried to ignore this and addressed the immediate problem. "Draco," He shouted to get the other boy's attention, "Come here." Draco glanced up. Harry stared in astonishment. The boy was deathly pale. Well, more pale then usual. He turned his face with dark rings around his eyes towards Harry, "Yes Potter?"

"What the hell did you do to Hermione?" Harry asked, trying to ignore the fact that a pale haunted stare had replaced the sneering, derisive expression that Draco usually wore. "Why what's wrong with her?" Draco replied innocently.

"She's silent and worried, ever since last night. What the hell, Draco?" retorted Harry angrily. Then, still watching Draco's thin face, he watched the other boy as his knees seemed to give way and he keeled over on the path.

"Draco? What? Oh god!" Harry leant forward to where Draco had partially collapsed on the path. Grabbing his jumper sleeve, Harry tried to pull him up. This provoked an anguished moan from the boy on the ground. Harry turned Draco's wrists to face him and found there was blood seeping through the thick wool.


	2. Chapter Two

Draco blinked. The sky was blindingly bright and there was one shadow moving across it. He heard yelling. He shut his eyes again. It was too much. This whole thing wasn't making sense.

"Draco?"

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

"Potter?"

Shit.

"Draco? What the hell's wrong with you?"

Draco struggled to sit up. It was quite a challenge as the path was completely covered in snow and he was quite dizzy. He was starting to remember what had happened. He'd been walking along the path when Potter had come up and started abusing him. Then he remembered feeling sick and suddenly the world had gone black.

"Draco, stand up," said Harry angrily as he heaved the other boy to his feet. "What the hell are you playing at?"

"I'm not doing anything wrong. I just felt like… lying down."

"On a snow covered path?"

"Yes. There's nothing wrong with that… you should try it… some time."

Draco struggled to talk as he battled a wave of nausea. Harry looked on in horror as his body lurched again. He grabbed Draco around the waist; his thin waist. He struggled to put the image of the blood stained sleeves out of his mind.

"Come on, let's get back to the castle."

"No, you go, I want to stay here."

"I'm not leaving without you."

"Potter and Malfoy. What on earth is going on here?"

Harry froze as he heard a voice behind him and he saw Draco wince.

"Well?"

"Well, um, Professor Snape, we were just walking along the path when Malfoy here tripped over and fell down. So, um, I was picking him up."

"Likely story Potter," sneered Snape as he surveyed the scene in front of him, "And you Malfoy?"

"Um, I fell down, Sir."

Draco felt his cheeks flush and looked at Harry. Harry was wearing a look of resigned determination. Thank god Harry hadn't told Snape the real story. The idea of the entirety of Slytherin knowing he had fainted was, to be honest, a bit embarrassing.

"Well," Snape said, obviously put out that he couldn't punish anyone, "Hurry up and get back to the castle. You're due in the Great Hall."

Draco sank against Harry as he watched Snape stalk off down the path. That could have been potentially dangerous.

"Um. Potter?"

"Yes Draco?"

"Would you mind removing your hand?"

Harry blushed, obviously embarrassed. "Um, yeah, right. Sure."

* * *

That night, Harry was lying awake in his dormitory, oblivious to the time. He kept on having annoying little thoughts about Draco: the horrible image in his head of Draco swaying, pale and thin, in a jumper that swamped his frame. Draco slumping to the snow. Draco's thin wrist clasped in his hand. A blood stained wrist.

He knew he needed to tell someone. But what could he say? I was walking around the grounds harassing my rival when suddenly he fell over and had blood on him. It sounded stupid. What would Draco say if he did that? He'd probably murder him… violently. Very violently. Even so… blood on his wrists. All that blood seeping through the wool. It wasn't normal. Was it?

He rolled over and stared blankly at the red curtains… red like blood… fresh blood. He groaned. Why did this have to happen to him?

* * *

Draco was also staring at the curtains. Green like jealously and envy. Like mould and decay. Green like the eyes of the guy who'd picked him up off the path and lied to a teacher for him. Actually, that was a lie. The curtains were an uglier green then that. He should tell Snape to change them. Slightly brighter and with more blue. He sighed. It had been a long day. His head hurt. He couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten. Was it yesterday? Or the day before?

He shook the thought from his mind. Stupid thought really. He'd have breakfast tomorrow anyway.

He rolled over and reached under the mattress. He'd put his diary there for safe keeping. All in all, a Slytherin dormitory was the safest place to hide things. The house had such a reputation for cunning and deceit that no one in their right mind would hide anything in its dorms. And anyway, anyone who tried to steal anything from Draco Malfoy would regret it severely in the not so distant future.

He picked up the diary. Somehow, he felt nervous about writing in it. It had been violated. However, he wasn't going to let some mudblood stop him. The very thought of it: a Malfoy, scared by a Mudblood. Not likely.

He picked up a quill and began to write.

* * *

Hermione was staring at the duplicated diary, still shocked by what she'd done. It was… not right. It was a violation of privacy. But Malfoy's pale face and disturbed entries… she knew she shouldn't read it… but at the same time.

Harry had been behaving strangely during dinner. The last she'd seen of him he'd gone off to find Malfoy. To ask him what he'd done to her, to Hermione. She hadn't seen Malfoy since then but Harry had sworn adamantly that he hadn't hurt him.

She opened the diary at the last page and started as she saw small shaky writing beginning to appear on the page.

* * *

_18/12th_

_It was cold today. Very cold. I woke up in a bathroom. I then vowed to never become an alcoholic. Waking up in bathrooms is not at all pleasant. Granger gave the diary back. I ran. Father would have been mortified. And now. It's still cold. My hands are shaking uncontrollably. I'm so scared. Scared of going home. Scared that my father might be there. Scared that anyone might find out. I'm weak. I'm powerless. And I can't take it._

* * *

Draco shook as he stopped writing. He couldn't do this again. He was feeling sick enough as it was.

Even so, he found his hands scrabbling deeper under the mattress. He'd stashed the knife that morning, carefully under the mattress with the diary. His breathing was loud in his ears. He hoped no one else could hear. He knew this looked bad. It looked as if he was desperate: an addict.

His hands slipped over the blade as he pulled it out. It cut his fingers… but he didn't care.

He grasped it, trying to get a firm grip… wouldn't do to stuff it up.

He ran it along his arm… cold metal against his skin. Running over the cuts he'd made the previous night.

It was sharp. A biting pain and he bit his lip and he watched the cut go white. Very white. Then red. A deep red. Like the red of the Gryffindor flag. How ironic… this wasn't brave. He wasn't brave. This was weak. Pathetic. Just like him.

* * *

Harry rolled over, still trying to get to sleep. In his mind he could see the blood still seeping through the thick wool.


	3. Chapter Three

It was below freezing the following morning and drifts of snow were piled in the castle grounds. The stone floors of the castle were cold to touch as students milled around waiting to go home for the Christmas holidays.

It was late in the morning before Draco woke. He glanced wildly around. Confused and disorientated as he lay wrapped up in the sheets. He leant back on his pillow as he remembered the night before. Desperation. Pain. Weak. Pathetic. All the thoughts that had stayed in his head all night before he'd finally sunk into a restless sleep. Pulling up the sheets a little, he chanced a look at his arm. It was messy and battered looking.

He mumbled to himself, "Scourgify." Watching, hebit back a shriek as the rough cleaning spell hit the lacerations on his skin.

Fuck. What time is it?

He checked the clock. The coach was coming in an hour and a half. He bit back the urge to shriek again. Would this ever get any easier?

* * *

After a quick shower to clean himself up, Draco returned to his bed and started frantically going through spell books. There had to be a solution in there somewhere.

Disillusionment was no good. He didn't want a chameleon for an arm… he just wanted the stuff on it to go away.

After half an hour of desperately scrabbling through spell books, Draco eventually settled for a long sleeve shirt. He glanced around at his packed up belongings. Only an hour left now and he was anxious as all hell.

Breathing in and out heavily, Draco willed himself not to become too panicked.

* * *

Draco stalked through the halls. It was midmorning and it was absolutely freezing.

"Bloody Britain," he mumbled to himself as he buried his fingers in his robes. He was walking briskly into the Great Hall when he ran straight into someone else who was walking veryquicklyout of the Great Hall.

"Watch where you're going," he snarled, not really caring at this point who he was talking to.

"I'm not the one who goes running around head butting people," retorted a voice.

Not just a voice; an aggravatingly familiar voice.

"Well, Potter. Just because…" Draco desperately tried to think of a reply. His brain wasn't working. Its usual ability to supply him with biting sarcasm appeared to have been cut off.

"Yes Malfoy?"

Now it wasn't just the biting sarcasm that had gone. It was everything. All rational thought had totally disappeared. He couldn't think. He couldn't breathe. Was this love?

This strange thought stayed with Draco as a slumped to the floor for the second time in two days.

Crap.

* * *

There were shadows across a background image of grey. Someone hovered overhead saying something. The words were indistinguishable from each other.

"Malfoy? Malfoy?"

"Yes, Potter?"

"You're awake then?"

"Think so. Now, if you'll excuse me…"

Draco forced himself up and glared at Harry.

"Tell anyone and you punched me. More specifically, I'll tell Snape. You'll never have a week without detention again." Draco gasped manically.

It would have been more effective had it not sounded like he was about to die, he thought morosely to himself.

With this in mind he carefully half-staggered his way out of the near empty entrance hall leaving Harry Potter standing alone in the room.

* * *

"Draco? The family carriage has arrived. Your father is waiting"

As the house elf bowed and left the room (presumeably to go get the luggage) Draco was left shocked. The ramifications of these words hit him like a lead weight and he felt like he was about to fall over (again). His father'sreturn had come all too soon for his liking. He was left standing in the hall by himself waiting for his luggage to arrive. Upon further consideration, he decided it would be more intelligent to walk down to meet his father. Punctuality was interchangeable in the Malfoy family. You were punctual to the powerful, fashionably late for your equals and never associated with anyone else. One of the few people that a Malfoy was early for was his own. It was probably something to do with the genetic temperament. No one with any vestige of intelligence would irritate someone with that kind of temper.

With this thought, Draco morosely picked his way down the stairs and to the ancient (yet wonderfully stylish and shiny) carriage.

"Draco," came a warning voice, "Do not slouch."

"Yes Father."

It was a fairly clinical greeting, but nothing out of the ordinary. Considering the alternatives, Draco was relieved. Actually, upon further consideration of the alternatives, Draco was ecstatic. Coldly returning his father's smirk he stepped up into the carriage. It would have been perfect. But he couldn't stop shivering. Curse this infernal weather, he thought to himself. He nearly groaned out loud. His father's way of thinking was catching.

* * *

After several minutes of uncomfortable silence between them, Draco was already starting to feel the pressures of home life.

"So, Draco," began his father.

Draco began to wonder where this conversation was going to go. They surely couldn't have a civilized conversation about Azkaban. ('So what did you do over the term, father?' 'I ate putrid meat and dwelled on my own discrepancies! How about you, Draco?')

Instead Draco reasoned that he would refer back to the situation before the 'Azkaban incident.' Therefore (as per usual) Draco would be forced to sit through questions about his school work, friends and his love life. He also was wondering when his father would start questioning him on his participation in evil activities. In previous interrogations, he'd often wondered about his father's sanity. He often wondered whether his father actually had a life of his own.

Draco's thoughts were interrupted.

"When are you going to start going out with that Parkinson girl?"

Banal small talk seemed the way to go. Pity. Azkaban could have been an interesting conversation topic.

Time to reply in true Malfoy fashion with a witty and yet cuttingly sarcastic remark.

"Father, do you really want me commit bestiality? The girl's basically a breed of dog. Goyle can have her."

"Draco, we've discussed this. You must date her."

"But father, she and Goyle are much more compatible. They're both sub-human in both intelligence and looks."

"You must."

"No."

"You will not?"

"No."

"Then suffer my wrath."

Suffer my wrath? Honestly, who says that in real life?

Draco pouted to himself and faced the window. Yes, coming home, was an experience in itself.

"Draco?"

Not again.

"Yes father?"

"You appear to be looking a little frail for my liking… small wonder the Parkinson girl won't have you!"

Hypocrite. Draco took in his father's thin face and grey pallor. Scathing comebacks crossed his mind. Most involved an expletive somewhere. What did it really matter what he said? He knew something bad was going to happen anyway, with the previous argument. He settled for rolling his eyes. His father didn't notice and the remainder of the trip was spent in an icy silence.

* * *

Draco rolled reflectively over on his four poster bed. Even if the company at home was bad the standards of living had definitely increased. He'd already been offered three meals and it wasn't even half past one. The new house elf certainly was taking this obsession with food thing to a whole new level. It was quite disconcerting. However, Draco hadn't eaten any of it. He had vowed to go on a hunger strike until he was no longer going to be forced to go out with Pansy. The mere thought of it was sick making. In fact, considering how sick it made him feel, he probably wouldn't have been able to eat the food anyway. So the hunger strike was no big thing. It had only been a couple of hours anyway.

Draco heard a familiar pounding on the stairs. Evidently, his father had not taken the same blasé attitude to the hunger strike. In fact, Draco thought to himself as he rolled lethargically over, his footsteps seemed even louder than normal. Flipping his legs off the side of the bed, he savoured the few moments he had left of peace.

The door swung open and a livid Lucius Malfoy entered the room. Draco turned slowly to look at him.

"Draco." He said, his calm voice barely covering the inane anger beneath it. "Why is it that all three meals that kitchen has sent up since this morning have all been rejected?"

"I'm protesting," replied Draco languidly. "No food until I am no longer forced to 'associate' with that Pansy girl."

"So, not only do you have to be such a pitiful specimen…" His voice spat violently over the words, spit flying in a most undignified fashion, "but you force yourself to become more so?"

"Well, that wasn't really the plan, but you may choose to interpret it however you want." "I WILL NOT ARGUE WITH YOU DRACO."

His fathers face was becoming increasingly flushed. His forehead pulsed and Draco could feel the anger emanating from him. Azkaban seemed to have removed the vestiges of his father's sanity that remained. It would be safer to finish the argument now; he would suffer less damage if he just conceded. If he just gave in.

Standing up he faced his father. He would not surrender to this form of intimidation. Who the hell did this bastard think he was?

"Father, how undignified; to lose your temper like a common muggle," he retorted, savouring the feeling of reckless abandon.

"Draco, how undignified wanting to lose weight like a common muggle girl." His father spat back at him.

"Hypocrite."

He remembered who this bastard was, as he saw the fist coming towards him. It was his father: a father who didn't usually bother with physical violence but preferred magical curses and hexes. Azkaban truly had changed him.

The blow hit. A very good shot with the fist actually as it made direct contact with the left side of his forehead. Must be slightly out of practice, Draco thought to himself as pain reverberated around his head and he fell backwards.

"I expect you to be at dinner Draco. No excuses. The house elf will be around shortly to clean you up."

In contrast with his loud entrance, Lucius Malfoy swept out of his son's bedroom without another word.

* * *

He'd been able to get out of dinner in the end, forcing the house elf to give him a potion to make him violently ill. It was a good potion for getting out of social functions but unfortunately had many unpleasant side effects.

He was once again, reclining on his bed. However, this time, he was fighting uncontrollable waves of nausea. Bloody house elf. When he said he'd wanted a potion to make him sick, he didn't mean permanently.

Lucius had taken this event to heart and had commented many times on Draco's weak constitution. However, Lucius also had a rather weak stomach so he was unable to spend too much time in Draco's company without looking rather green himself.

Leaning back against the feather pillows again, Draco wondered briefly about his mother. He had not seen her all holidays. In his younger years she had been affectionate, but apparently the lure of the dark arts had taken over. Their conversations grew forced and stilted and lately they hadn't talked at all.

Holding back another pang of nausea he rolled over and stared sadly into the plush green pillows. Sometimes, he'd gladly trade all the riches for a bit more affection.

His Slytherin side kicked in at this point and he quickly amended that thought. Not all of his riches – how could one enjoy life without them – but a small percentage of his fortune, at least, for a bit more affection. Sighing, he considered it again. It sounded a lot like he was on the market for a prostitute.


	4. Chapter Four

The Christmas holidays went far slower than normal. Although this time the circumstances were substantially worse. Draco was staring morosely out the window into the grey grounds. It was Boxing Day and the day was wet, cold and wintry. The sky was a dull grey that seemed to match Draco's mood. In punishment for Draco's disobedient and disrespectful behavior, he'd been banned from leaving his room. Shifting slightly as he leant against the window sill, Draco could see his breath frosting on the glass. It seemed like ages since he'd been allowed outside. It would have been nice to feel the biting cold of the air on his skin. He was so sick of the musty smell of the old house that seemed to have a dull chill even in summer.

He moved slowly towards his bed. He hadn't been eating much and his thoughts were clouded and confused. His pale pallor was now grey and sallow. Still, thought Draco to himself as he pulled his weight on top of the covers, at least he wasn't yellow. He definitely preferred grey to yellow. He recalled Goyle's shockingly yellow pallor at Easter last year. Chuckling quietly to himself, he also remembered the spell that had caused it. Croceus Palleo: a highly useful little spell indeed that somehow managed to turn the recipient a dull yellow. Rolling over, onto his back he wondered how much effort it would take to get underneath the covers. Was he really that cold? Would it really be worth the effort? Groaning quietly to himself he decided against it; too much effort indeed.

* * *

"Draco?"

What on earth could that be? His father had made a pointed attempt to ignore him throughout the whole holiday.

"Master Draco?"

"Huhn?"

Draco winced to himself; his conversation skills were decidedly lacking.

Pulling himself up he forced himself to look down at the tiny house elf wondering whether it was worth bribing the elf to keep quiet about his ineloquent manner. Common sense came back to him, and he reasoned that no one would listen to an elf anyway.

"What do you want?"

"Master Draco has forgotten that he has to go back to school today. Master Lucius requests that you pack immediately."

Draco stared at the elf.

"Oh shit."

* * *

Draco had managed to pack eventually. Or rather, the house elf ran around and picked up robes and various other possessions and placed them gently in the trunk. Draco, however, had wandered aimlessly around and occasionally bumped into stuff.

Either way, Draco found himself in the entrance hall half and hour later, absolutely freezing, despite the three jackets he was wearing. Shivering to himself he desperately hoped his father wouldn't notice his face that had gotten even thinner over the Christmas break nor that he was shivering whilst wearing enough clothes for an Eskimo. Which, he reminded himself, was a rather stupid analogy. Everyone knew that in winter, Britain was seemingly colder then any where else in the world.

"Draco?"

"Yes father?"

The words lilted awkwardly off his tongue. He was unused to speaking having spent the past week and a half in complete silence.

"I just wanted you to know…"

Draco felt a tiny leap of hope rise in his chest. Could this be long awaited promises of love and affection that he had missed for so long? Could it be a declaration of pride in Draco's manner and happiness in the way that his son had turned out?

"That I'm terribly disappointed in you and that you have disgraced the Malfoy name."

No such luck.

"Thank you ever so much father."

Shit. Not sarcasm.

"For that Draco, I thank you."

A motion towards his pocket and a wand appeared. This whole exchange had, evidently, been previously planned.

Then Draco felt it; the pain that started where the bolt of power hit his chest. It was

the excrutiating pain of hatred and malice being thrown from one person to another. He could feel it coursing around his body as he fell to the ground. He was twitching as the hatred of a thousand people went through him. The pain was too much. He was getting beaten from the inside out. He could feel his insides churning as they struggled to cope with this onslaught of pain. Make it stop. I want to die. Please make it stop.

The pain retreated; he could feel it the power slowly leaving his body. He was shaking, cowering on the floor and felt like he was going to be sick. He slowly lifted his head and glared at his father malevolently as he struggled to breath. What a complete bastard!

* * *

He arrived back at school late afternoon. The castle was grey and dreary with its upper towers immersed in the thick grey cloud that was the sky. Drawing his numerous cloaks closer towards him, he wondered briefly which place was worse.

"Hey Malfoy!"

Yes. Hogwarts was definitely starting to look like the worse option.


	5. Chapter Five

"Potter," he answered weakly, hoping that the lack of malice would be ignored.

"You… look different."

This was shaping up to be a very odd conversation indeed.

"Thankyou for that comment Potter. I look forward to talking to you again."

With that he lurched forward slightly and began making his way up the steps of the castle. There was less snow now. It had all melted into the earth creating a brownish slush that had puddles of water from the recent rain. It was still bitingly cold though and he drew his cloaks closer again. Curse this stupid season. Why the hell did they build a castle on such a huge hill? Who the hell designed this place? He plotted briefly about murdering the architects.

As he struggled to climb the steps, his vision continued to go black at the edges and he could feel his head swimming slightly. It was taking all of Draco's willpower not to collapse. Finally he reached the top and started taking the long trek to the dungeons.

He could feel his steps weaving around wildly as he tried desperately to get to the common room. The trip seemed to be taking twice as long as usual. And he was still bothered by that disconcerting conversation with Potter. Why would he even care if Draco looked different? It had seemed very odd to have one's arch nemesis be concerned when one's relatives didn't seem to care at all.

Looking up from the stones which he had been watching desperately for the past minutes, he saw the portrait that was the entrance to the Slytherin common room. It was then he realised that he didn't know the password. This day was definitely not going as well as he had planned.

* * *

Harry had been intent on racing down to question Draco (and hopefully fight him as well) as soon as he saw him arrive at school. The coach rolled up mid afternoon in customary Malfoy style and Draco appeared from within it.

Harry raced down the steps to meet it trying not the slip in the slushy mess of melting snow on the steps.

Hermione had been a real worry over the entirety of the holiday. She'd been withdrawn and refusing to tell Ron and Harry what was wrong. They had come up with lots of theories but this one was the most likely. She'd been anti-social ever since that incident with Malfoy. It had to be Malfoy's fault. It had to be.

"Hey Malfoy!"

Harry reached the bottom of the steps just in time to see Malfoy shiver and pull his clothes around him. His face was thin and drawn and it looked like he hadn't been outside in weeks. Two weeks to be precise.

A weak reply was all that elicited from Malfoy and all thoughts of fighting him left Harry's head.

"You look… different."

Now, the appropriately scathing remark occurred. But Harry didn't hear it. As Malfoy turned to leave, all of his attention was focussed on Malfoy's thin form struggling against the wind to climb the steps, slipping occasionally on the slush.

Even once Malfoy had reached the top (which took a surprisingly long time) he was still standingconspicuously shell-shocked at the bottom of the staircase.

* * *

It took at least half an hour before someone let him into the common room. And it had to be Crabbe, didn't it? Draco was barely able to stand as he struggled to explain to the mentally challenged moron that he was waiting outside the common room to be let in. Unfortunately, even simple ideas took a long time to sink in. He eventually left Crabbe to his thinking, justifying that it would probably be a good half and hour before he noticed he was alone in the room.

Lying back on the bed, he toyed with the idea of going down to the Great hall for dinner. But that would mean walking. Or worse, doing something at all. He decided just to have a bit of a sleep beforehand.

That was his last thought, as he slumped in the pillows and restlessly dozed off.

He was woken an hour later by a voice in the dormitory.

"Draco?"

"Huh?"

Oh, eloquent Malfoy. What an intelligent comment.

"I see you have arrived at school then Draco."

Damn. It would have to be Snape wouldn't it?

"Um, hello Professor."

"May I ask what you are doing?"

Draco struggled to think. What had he been doing? He had been having a rest, and then planning on going down to dinner. But it was all just too hard.

"Sorry Professor. I just fell asleep."

Lame. Very lame. And by the looks of things, this answer had not impressed Snape one bit. His lip was curling as he spoke with a sneer.

"Well, the headmaster was a tad confused as to why one of the prefects didn't turn up to the feast."

Draco made a vain attempt to smile winningly at his professor. Unfortunately it didn't work too well. It was probably a couple of seconds before he realised that Snape was still talking. And that he now had no idea what on earth the conversation was about.

"… and now I come up here to find you obviously ill. Draco, why didn't you inform me immediately? I could understand you wanting to avoid Pomphrey but you could have had the decency to inform someone as opposed to languishing in here. You shouldn't even be at school in this state. How long have you been ill?"

"Uh…"

Damn it. Another stupid comment. His brain really was being unbearably slow. His head was hurting incredibly. He realised Snape was talking again.

"… cannot believe Lucius allowed you to go back to school in this state…"

The conversation was slipping in and out and Draco's grasp.

"… should owl him and…"

His mind snapped awake at that. Anything but that.

"He didn't know… I didn't tell him."

Snape nodded in comprehension. Draco caught words such as, 'potion,' 'stay there,' and, 'back soon.'

As if he was going to go anywhere. His legs felt too heavy to move. He briefly entertained thoughts about locking the door and keeping out stupid interfering professors. He then thought about having Snape murder him (painfully) in response to this rather stupid plan. With this in mind, he decided to leave the door unlocked.

After leaning over to close the curtains in case one of his fellow students returned from the feast, Draco lay back and waited for Snape to return.


	6. Chapter Six

Snape cursed Draco mentally as he walked through the dark corridors to get to his office. He'd gone up to the dorms with the full intent of shouting at Draco for being so irresponsible to have missed the feast. A similar incident had occurred a few months ago. He'd gone up to the dormitory to find Draco heavily inebriated lying with his head in the lap of a more sober Blaise Zambini. Luckily for him, Draco had no recollection of the incident. But Snape was glad he had entered at that time. The looks Zambini had been giving Draco had been positively lecherous. And worst of all, he'd seemed not at all concerned that Draco couldn't stand up. Quite the opposite.

He sped up as he reached his office. Grabbing a couple of potions he thought briefly of the sight that had met him as he entered the room.

Draco had been splayed awkwardly over the pillows. His eyes flickering as he struggled to grasp the conversation. It had taken Snape a good few moments to realise that he was ill. After he had, he didn't see how he could have missed it. How could Lucius have not seen this illness?

Without a backward glance, he took the vials and headed back to the Slytherin common room.

* * *

Draco still winced with the recollections of that night. Snape had returned and attempted to get Draco to drink the potions. Shortly afterwards Draco was violently ill all over the floor. Draco knew Snape had been close to sending him to Madame Pomfrey that night. He'd been very lucky to avoid that one. The mediwitch would immediately know that something was seriously wrong. And Draco wasn't about to let her know about the… stuff.

Shuddering slightly at the thought he returned to staring at himself in the mirror. It was the first day of term and he'd spent much of the night being harassed by Snape. And it showed. His reflection was pale and sick looking with greyish looking shadows under his cheekbones and black shadows around his eyes. It wasn't pretty. There had to be a way of changing it.

He was alone in the dorm Most of its other occupants had arrived this morning and Snape had forced Crabbe to sleep in the common room. It was too late for them to be around anyway. It was at least three quarters of the way through breakfast time.

He weaved slightly across the floor as he walked around the room searching for his wand. Once he found it, he muttered a concealment charm. He felt his skin writhing as it tried to change its appearance but the charm wasn't strong enough. Hissing in annoyance, he leant his weight onto the bed as a tried to find an appropriate spell book. Flicking to the index his eyes unsteadily searched the page. Occulto Eximius Valde. That looked promising. He flicked to the page and glanced briefly at the description. _Suitable for the concealment of most skin problems including cuts and bruises, scars, most forms of acne, uneven skin tone and discolouration._

It took Draco just three tries to get it perfect. Staring back at him from the mirror was a lean but healthy looking Draco Malfoy. Draco was also pleasantly surprised when he discovered that the spell had covered up the marks that crisscrossed haphazardly over his arms. Smirking at his reflection he turned sharply to leave the room. He lurched forward unsteadily and then came unexpectedly face to face with his bed. His head thudded dully as he ran vaguely into the bed post and then found himself staring up at the ceiling from where he had landed on the floor.

"Who put this here?" he mumbled to himself dazedly.

Looking around slowly to see if there was anyone else in the room he stood up and walked towards the door, far more conscious of any more inanimate objects that may be in his way.


End file.
